Plague me with simplicity because I can't stand the dramaThis is the real life I'm livingEven if that thought makes me illAnd I'm sure it gave me the diseases the doctors speak to me ofBut I have no proof those diseases are even realWhat is real?What is the self that makes it so we can identify who we areBecause I'm sure if we really had that skill we'd be suicidalJust because we'd be so sick of our own productivityI'd eat my shell out if I could see without itBut truth becomes unfair when you don't really mean itSo I guess the end means the same as the beginningWhen all you did was love and all I lost was meaningSo plague me with your ecstasy so I can breathe againAnd I guess it's okay if we are just friends

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